


Somebody's gonna have a bad time

by letheandmnemosyne (octobertown)



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Biting, Blow Jobs, Cuckolding, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Light Dom/sub, Multi, Orgasm Delay, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slapping, Spitroasting, Spoiler: Nobody's having a bad time in this fic, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voyeurism, cuddle puddle, hotwifing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28712601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octobertown/pseuds/letheandmnemosyne
Summary: You just had to open your mouth, didn’t you? A few drinks, a little boasting, a wager between friends, and now you’re face down ass up with Savage stretching out your c*nt while Maul watches. Congratu-karking-lations.
Relationships: Darth Maul/Reader, Feral Opress/Reader, Savage Opress/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is... I don't know what this is. It's definitely group sex, but it's You X Opress Brothers. Posted a while back in November 2020, and removed in a fit of self-consciousness -- this originally appeared on Tumblr where things are easily lost. *handflap* I'm putting this in my archives so it doesn't get misplaced. 
> 
> Have fun. xx

“I think it’s stuck,” you manage. You’re sweating, your thighs quivering. Only the wide expanse of Savage’s hands bracketing your hips as his fingers contract on your flesh is indicator that he’s paying attention —

Not to stretching you around his cock, but to whether or not you can take it like you wagered. In hindsight, maybe that shouldn’t have been the bet on the table after the fifth round of spotchka. You’re dead sober now, aren’t you? 

Maul, half-entranced by his brother’s progress, snaps his attention to your face. If his marked concern doesn’t put you at ease, then surely Savage’s low chuckle humming through your body should be reason to worry. 

It was Maul’s idea to share you to begin with, so this is on him.

“Maul!” you cry out.

“Right.” The bob of his throat as he swallows his indecision turns him from the entertained observer to concerned lover. 

Savage pats your ass, smoothing his thumb across the crest of your flesh, utterly unperturbed. “You’re doing so well, little one.”

When you try to glance back to see how deep inside you he is, Maul draws your chin back to him. He slides off his chair, crouching before you — on your hands and knees, spread for Savage like he’d wanted you, your ass in the air — but it’s Maul on the floor before the bed: ever the attentive one, ready to remedy the hiccup.

You’re the hiccup. 

He touches your cheek with uncommon tenderness. He knows you like it rough usually, he knows you like being filled up. He knows you can take each one of the ridges of his cock, because he’s worked your pussy to pleasure more times than you can count. But his brother?

“Does it hurt?” 

He searches your face. 

Your cunt gives a throb of protest, but you’re already adjusting. It just… takes a little longer than usual.

“How many more?” you whimper.

Savage squeezes your ass cheek.

“She’s a lot of talk, I think,” he interjects.

The drink left you loose and easy, but now that you’re splayed between them, you’re rethinking the whole thing.

Maul told Savage that you liked a hard fuck now and again. Maul said — one hand down your neckline, tweaking a nipple, palming your breast as you squirmed on his lap and Savage watched — you’d expressed an interest in the possibility of being strung between brothers with both of them inside you “just to see what it might feel like”.

At the time, you weren’t considering Savage could choke you from your nethers, but there you are: whimpering for him as Maul peeks at the juncture where Savage is in the process of splitting you. 

A small smile. Not reassuring.

“Barely a third of the way in?”

He’s going to ruin you for anyone else.

You’re never going to recover from this.

Your pussy will literally never be the same, and belatedly, it occurs to you that that was the whole point wasn’t it? 

Maul wants to see you get fucked too. That’s why he phrases it like a question before he eases closer. 

“Love,” he says, brushing a thumb over your cheek. You know that tone. It’s the one that precedes the kind of candor that leaves you slicking your trousers for him more often than not: a commingling of level reasoning and dominance that makes you want to be a good girl for him.

“Please,” you say instead. You refuse to call Maul ‘daddy’ in front of Savage, but oh — you’re so close to giving into those base humiliations that Maul loves and leaves you oh so pliant.

A smirk quirks Maul’s mouth like he knows you’re trying not to beg as Savage eases an inch deeper and settles as your mouth drops open. He squeezes your ass again, but this time his grip has a firmer demand to it — like, if pressed, he would take hold of both ass cheeks and drag you down his length the rest of the way in one strong pull.

The thought strikes a particular part of your body that seizes everything into stillness — hovering on that edge that will leave you as gibbering mess before they’ve even gotten started.

Somehow, you hold back.

Truth is… you sort of like it.

Truth is… you might’ve expressed that exact curiosity to Maul on more than one occasion so here you are, you little slut. He never said he wouldn’t oblige you. 

Maul’s fingers have worked into your hair so that he can hold you in place, watching your features twist as your hips squirm on his brother. It’s not painful. You’re just so karking full already and —

“You’re doing so well,” Maul breathes against your mouth, admiring you. “Such a tight little cunt like yours can certainly handle more.” He smiles against your skin. “All you need, love, is a little encouragement.” Maul kisses your cheek. “A little praise when you do well.” He kisses the other, stroking your neck, your shoulder as he positions himself before you. “And a little patience to make sure we get you good and wet for the rest.”

Oh stars, you think.

Maul smiles against your lips, and taking breaths in sharp little inhalations — Maul licks open your mouth, smiling against your lips as you sigh into the space before his kiss. This is the part he likes: your anticipation.

Your hands make fists into the covers, waiting for the moment where there will be pain, but it doesn’t come.

“We’ve got you, little one,” Savage rumbles behind you, as Maul slants his mouth against yours, the warmth of his tongue easing you open for him. Soothing. Slow and gentle. It’s deceptive — this calm before the storm. That’s why your nipples pebble to peaks and your hips roll against Savage.

The press and burn of one more ridge sliding deeper clips and bucks as one becomes two, and you spasm involuntarily. Maul catches your cry, gripping the back of your head as his kiss becomes devouring.

You “ahh” into his mouth, but when Savage’s thumb brushes the small pucker of your asshole, everything squeezes — wrenching together more tightly than any of you anticipated.

Savage groans, and Maul pauses to look up.

“Nicely done,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You glare at him, as he smiles like he knew all along that you could take it. 

“Savage?” Maul asks, looking for confirmation.

His brother’s answering grunt is answer enough. He squeezes your ass, pulling your cheeks apart as the last ridge breaches your hole and you moan at the feeling of being overly full. All at once. Too much. Too good. 

Savage is sweating now too — but he slits his eyes open and gives you a proud little nod. Pats your ass. A job well done, but the thing is —

“We’re only just getting started, love,” says Maul, before he juts his chin at Savage like they rehearsed this and Savage —

“What are you —“ you manage, but the big brute — not your friend anymore, you decide — draws you back against his chest and settles you, splayed over his lap, exposing every trembling part of you to his brother whose roving gaze takes you in: spread over Savage’s thighs, his cock buried to the hilt inside you, your pussy stretched to its limit, your legs dangling, everything exposed for their enjoyment and your traitorous body quivers with the possibility of more.

“Beautiful,” says Maul, but it’s Savage who’s large hands warm your breasts, squeezing them. And it’s Savage who’s put you on display as two of his fingers flick at your clit, dragging your wetness in a line up your stomach, pressing those huge fingers to your mouth asking for entry.

That’s when you realize you have Maul’s undivided attention. 

“Go on,” says Savage into your shoulder, smiling. “Show him what you can do.”

You flick a glance at him, questioning, but Savage angles his hips in such a way that his cock brushes out of you just enough that your lips part in a sigh anyway.

“Are you gonna fuck me for him?” you whisper.

Savage winks. Cheeky. 

His other hand brushes lightly over your clit, and you’re so full and so tight and so wound to breaking that your stomach jerks with it. Savage knows it, and when he eases that little bud between his thick fingers to avoid making direct contact you puddle against his chest.

You’re so, so wet right now.

“I’m going to make you come while he watches.”

Somehow the possibility of wiping that smug overly proud look off Maul’s face while Savage ragdolls you is more promising of what it might feel like to come apart on the enormous cock buried inside you. 

More: the possibility of what Maul might do to you after tunnels your vision; a hot throb of vengeful promise ricocheting between your heart and your groin, making it hard to breathe.

You know what he’s like when he gets jealous.

And you tighten on Savage in unspoken agreement.

You flick your gaze back to Maul’s — your lover, your heart, your only — and while it will please him to see you shatter, it’ll please you more to gasp out Savage’s name like an obscenity while you look Maul dead in the eye.

He’s already palming his cock, hard for the show. 

“Be a good girl,” he says, and that’s when you swallow every inch of Savage’s fingers to Maul’s groan.


	2. Chapter 2

With a middle finger the size of a Rodian carrot halfway down your throat, you can only speak in vowels. 

“Breathe,” Savage urges you, but he’s doing something to your tongue that leaves you hitching under his ministrations anyway. It dawns on you belatedly, between the slightly salty taste of his fingers and the way he’s got your face turned to his, he’s doing to your mouth what he’d do to your cunt if he wasn’t already inside you. 

The thought only makes you clench harder, trying to rock into him to find some friction, but — and maybe you should have thought this one through — he’s the biggest of three brothers. If Savage doesn’t want you to ride, you’re going to wait until he says so. As if the subtle circles he’s making around your clit weren’t incentive enough, he’s decided to wet your chin with your own spit — fucking those thick fingers into your mouth like it was a lesson Maul forgot to teach you:

How to take a Zabrak cock in three easy steps:

One — try not to smile. It’ll make you choke.

Two — you don’t remember the other two.

“Close your lips, little one.”

But you give him those big boo boo eyes of yours in a show of innocence that Savage knows is all show, and as reprimand, he claps you once on the thigh — hard.

You obey, but your whimper has dragged Maul’s attention from your mouth to his brother.

“No one leaves marks on her except for me.”

This time, you clench for an entirely different reason. Savage hitches you back, rocking you with his hips so that you slide and land back in his lap with a little whuff! of arousal and surprise. He pats your clit a little too sharply, and you gasp around those fingers, taking him back an inch and making him groan.

You make a muffled noise around his index finger, tonguing it, but the sound is lost beneath Savage’s rough grunt of interest as gravity does the work for you — sliding him from you as the slow, slicked descent pulls you towards the mattress. 

“Kriff,” he says, and you know he’s watching that connection point between your bodies as your wetness makes it easier to transition to your knees, revealing a few torturous inches of the flesh he’s kept you impaled on, your mouth too stuffed with his fingers to beg.

Why do they always make you wait?

You’ve been so good, too.

“Maul,” you try to say, but it doesn’t come out right.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, dear,” he mutters, but his gaze hasn’t left yours — not for a second as he’s exposed that swath of silicone and cybernetics and durasteel. Maul’s cock. Better, even, that Savage’s fingers — 

The sensitivity in his mechanics fine-tuned for what you need, modelled after the genuine article, cared for by none other than yourself. That’s what you want. That’s your cock in his fist. And so help you, he will let you have it.

When you reach for him, Maul swats your hand away, giving it a rough pump. Tease. 

He will let you wrap your tongue around it, taking it as far as you can in a breath and a swallow, and ease it all the way back until that little spot in the back of your throat is comfortable with the prospect of being left hoarse tomorrow morning.

You imbue the look you give him with that fact, as if you’re in any position to make demands, already drooling on Savage’s fingers like it was the real deal while the real deal is inches from your face, taunting you.

You must have been clenching. You were probably rolling your hips, the friction you need so close. Savage’s thighs are wet with your juices.

Oops.

When Savage says your name, there’s a note of strain in it. You can feel his tension curled inside you, the throb of his balls against your ass a warning for how close he is. Evidently holding out is about as much Savage’s strong suit as it is yours, and if this was a test of wills, everyone eventually loses.

You swallow again, involuntary this time, and pull your mouth off his fingers just as Maul’s hands card into your hair. He tugs your head back so he can see your eyes, your lips parted, so karking thirsty for it — 

And Savage grunts, “Can’t anymore —“ and pushes you to your hands with one flat, wide palm bowing you forwards from the shoulderblades so that when he pulls back and snaps his hips, your world whites out for just a second. 

Vision spotty, too stunned to gasp, clarity rings like a bell as you see Maul’s smile: half-cast in pride, half-cast in some sordid interest.

Oh stars, you think, the sensation of Savage drawing back like a wave pulling back from a shore. 

“Daddy,” you breathe, and Maul silences your filthy little mouth in one delicious thrust.

This is the thing about Savage, though: he’s so big that unless he holds you in place, you won’t get to feel all seven of those ridges rippling across every sensitive bit of your pussy — not the way the thick of him, angled downward, hits that spot that causes a singularity behind your eyes. It’s like a star going supernova. 

Savage’s hands clamp your hips, thick fingers notched into too-soft flesh, moulding you to him as he pulls you farther apart while he bobs you up and down over his length in abbreviated bursts. You have a collection of obscenities that you’d like to share with him, spat between the noises he draws from your body — the pleading, gutteral, whimpers and gasps that strike home too many times in rapid succession for you to register anything other than the feeling of him striking home inside you, utterly unrepentant.

When Savage reaches for the back of your neck to steady you, oblivion threatens.

There’s no build — it just blossoms from a coiled knot at a pace that’s entirely too punishing for you to registerer that each thrust pushes your mouth farther down Maul’s cock. 

When you gag the first time, the sound’s lost under the slap of Savage’s thighs against the backs of your legs, so Maul’s grip tightens on your hair.

“Love?” he manages, teeth grit.

You gasp.

Your eyes tear, and he wipes at them, pulling your mouth off him with a pop. He cups your cheek and bereft, empty mouthed, you whimper, “More.”

The look on his face it so very worth it.

Savage hauls you back to him, a hand clasping a breast, the other finding the notch between your thighs as he bends over you — the wall of his chest a heated, hard cover against the world as his breath blooms down your neck. He doesn’t stop moving. Not for a second.

“Little one,” he says into your ear, Maul watching him work you to crumpling. You’re a toy to Savage. You’re a tiny, soft bit of mewling fluff — and you don’t know when you gave yourself over to being boneless, but with those enormous arms around you, he turns you and folds you beneath him in a breath before his mouth descends to yours and your legs fall around his hips. 

His cock slips out, and without much preamble, he slides back in — the weight of him pinning you beneath the glide of his hips, and frozen to that sensation of being pressed open so roughly, you sigh and arch into his rumbling laughter.

From behind you, Maul mutters, “I don’t recall this being part of the deal.”

And you look up to find that look on his face — 

You know the one. 

“Savage,” you manage, head tilted back as Maul’s brother laves at your throat — the expanse of his broad chest engulfing though he hovers above you to keep you from getting crushed. Your fingers trail down his pecs to his ribs to his abs, and under your hands you can feel Savage’s stomach twitch. His thighs are like karking tree trunks.

And his length, slipping in and out of you with such ease now that you’ve slathered it in your arousal — 

Oh. Stars. That is nice.

Everything winds a little tighter. 

You have a brief flash of what your itty bitty fists would look like wrapped around that cock, but too late for that — 

Each of Savage’s shallow thrusts rake over your clit, tugging you along towards that blissful spaced-out plateau of pleasure. It’s not going to take much, you think. 

Beneath the, “Nnnn,” of desperation and the, “Ah fuck,” between beats, you hear the creak of the chair in front of the bed as Maul flings himself into it. Twisting, you see he’s tossed a leg over the arm, brooding a bit that he’s been left out.

Savage chuckles into your neck, and it’s all territorial possession now. If they don’t get into a fist fight after this, you’d be surprised. When Savage tips your face to his, he’s watching Maul as he sinks his tongue into your mouth — snuffing all sound. All breath. Filling you with the sort of warmth and heat that leaves you pooling at the groin for him, but he doesn’t stop.

It occurs to you that this is the first time you’ve ever kissed Savage. Maul seems to realize it too, sitting up straighter as if Savage has slapped a challenge in his face.

He pulls off your mouth, still watching Maul’s shifting expressions as into your ear Savage murmurs, loud enough so that his brother can hear, “Are you my good little girl?”

Kark you’ll be whatever he wants you to be so long as he doesn’t stop.

Maul’s glower deepens. 

Here we go, you think as you wrap your arms around those big shoulders.

You’re watching Maul’s face when you whisper, “Please Savage. Ruin me.”

There isn’t a warning.

The invisible grip that locks your arms above your head echoes the same snap of pressure that pushes into you, cunt-first. You arch with it, Savage’s thumb and forefinger circling your throat — not to cut off your air, only to demonstrate his dominance. His utter possession of your body. Your will. 

Karking Sith are all like this, you think — 

It’s Maul who has your wrists in his grasp, and it’s Maul you’re on display for after all.

Savage is —

Your brain shorts out, your mouth opening in a silent howl of surprise as your spine pulls off the bed, sensation swirling down 

down

down to the knot of need want desire fuck please between your legs as Savage takes what he wants of you in thick, heavy thrusts that leave your pussy battered by the slam of his hips into yours. Soundless. Frozen. On the edge and —

Throbbing to life again as the white hot line of pleasure spikes and you drag a breath between your teeth to shout, clawing at him as your orgasm slams into you like a wave.

Your ears fuzz. Your toes curl. Darkness hovers over you as the swell crests and breaks and you scream for —

“Maul!”

But Savage is. Still. Going.

You slap at his shoulder, trying to hold on, not finished with your first but a second threatens as Savage — not the level, contemplative guy you’re used to — turns his teeth against your throat and worries the flesh with a growl that leaves you whimpering.

The hot wet slap of your ass against his lap takes on a new dimension as on some distant world you realize you’re going to bruise but your chin wrenches up, and that smug, satisfied smirk fills your vision as Maul lowers himself to join you. His hands slide down your arms to cup your breasts, your nipples pinched against his thumbs — and he whispers, “Good girl.”

You gasp a sigh/laugh into his mouth as he finds yours. Your Maul. Your proud, fierce Lord and master. The look he gives you leaves you tingling.

Savage snarls, stilling briefly before tearing out of you, his hips jerking as his spend splatters your stomach; your thighs —

Hot and thick in ropes as he grunts and fists the rest out over your skin, your body shuddering under the violence of it.

But it’s Maul who slants his mouth against yours, swallowing the pitiful noise you make as you throb, gasping in your relief, your legs quaking and spent. His fingers brush through the mess, stroking your clit as if to remind you that it’s his, and he hums as he kisses you, your thighs pressing together at the show of gentle affection.

“Such a good, sweet girl.”

Savage squeezes your thigh for a job well done, still breathing hard as Maul lifts you to sitting; caressing your weak, supple body as he settles you against his chest. His kisses deepen, his embrace a familiar comfort that you’d missed, even as he turns his attention to your throat, the spot beneath your ear, your collarbone. Long, soothing touches as you come down. So good. So full. So spent.

His interest sits hard against your ribs, and you give him your best, dopiest smile. 

“Mmm,” is all you manage, which is both somehow acknowledgement that he’s been paying attention, and the understanding that in a matter of moments, he’s going to slip that cock inside you to remind you that you were his first. 

Reaching a hand out for Savage, kneeling before you with the enormity of his manhood dangling between his legs like some southwards pointing miracle, he kisses your knuckles. You smile at him, giving that huge hand a tug to draw him back to you to say thanks with a peck on the cheek. He’s leaning over you, one knee between your legs and ready to oblige you when the door whirrs, unlatching.

Maul’s murmur into your ear of, “Is it my turn yet?” is drowned out as it swishes open on the picture of you like that: splayed between two brothers, covered in come, utterly fucked, and still somehow warmed for a bit more.

“Who drank all the spotchka —” Feral trails off, the empty bottle sagging in his grip.

The youngest of three Opress brothers stares a moment, his throat bobbing. 

He looks between Maul and Savage, and to you between them. A look of hurt marks his sweet features for just one moment, crumpling his chin.

“You didn’t invite me?” he asks.

Maul’s sigh gutters through the Force. Savage arches an eyebrow.

And you?

You exchange a guilty glance between them, your heartbeat lurching to life between your legs once more as you drag in a hasty, thin breath.

“Hey Feral,” you manage, two octaves too high. 

You can practically feel Maul rolling his eyes, his impatience a thready thing that turns his grip on your body possessive for just a moment before he relents. 

When Maul’s hand cups your sex, you jerk in surprise — unaware that you’d been too focused on the darkening expression on Feral’s face, your breath thinning as expectation overrides your better senses.

“This is my pussy,” he informs Feral.

A beat as Feral processes that bit of information: the boundary clear.

Savage juts his chin. “Don’t come in it.”

Another beat as Feral’s expression turns hungry.

Oh, kark, you think —

Maul jerks his head in invitation, and Feral’s entire face changes as his gaze swings to you. Something shifts in him as those pale eyes travel down your body, seeing the mess they’ve made. When he glances up to your pebbling nipples, you swear your ears start ringing as he drops the bottle with a clunk to punctuate his position on the matter.

“Hey,” he says to you, but he’s already pulling off his shirt as the door swishes shut behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Soft, sweet Feral. You have exactly half a second to process that the male approaching you has shucked off every impression you’ve had of him along with the upper half of his clothing before he’s shoved Savage off to get an arm under your legs. The other snakes beneath your shoulder blades.

“Okay?” he asks, breathy and flashing a too eager, too-knowing smile.

Feral doesn’t wait for your reply.

The quickness at which this happens takes another half-beat to process that he’s got you airborne and two steps in the direction of the fresher — your legs sailing over Maul’s head — and Feral doesn’t stop.

For a guy built long and lean, your escape takes two strides before you’re out of grasp of the others. You’ve barely taken a breath. Your heart is caught somewhere in your throat.

Feral’s elbow hits the lock, shutting and sealing the door on the startled faces of his brothers, and it’s only when he throws that boyish grin in your direction do you realize —

He’s thought about this too.

Feral ducks his head, avoiding your gaze as he sets you to your feet.

“You know this is a group effort,” you tell him, a little amazed by his audacity.

The door jerks and dents as Savage slams into it from the other side.

Feral grins. Scrubs the back of his head. Shrugs. Sheepish.

Cute.

“I just wanted a minute before —“

He looks you over. You’re still naked. Still covered with Savage’s efforts.

The latter doesn’t seem to bother him so much, but the former pinks his cheeks.

“Kriff, sorry — I just — you’re not hurt, or, sore or —”

You like how he wants to look at you, but is trying to stop himself. 

You bite your cheek to stop grinning. “A little tender,” you admit. 

He blows out a long breath. “Well, Savage, I mean — yes. That would make sense.”

Feral forces his eyes to the ceiling as if not staring at your tits will help him think clearly for a minute.

“I just wanted to make sure you wanted to. Before. You know. Before we —“

“We what?”

His blush deepens and he slants those pale, pretty eyes in your direction. Chews the inside of his mouth.

“Tender,” he repeats, and he seems steadier. 

“Tender,” you agree.

You fold your arms across your chest as if it might help him focus better, but he’s taller than you, and he peeks over your shoulder at your ass with a sly sliver of manufactured innocence that you know is total bantha pudu.

Feral lets out a long breath, his gaze settling as his nerves leech out of him.

He quiets. Stilling. His voice drops a notch. “Would you like me to kiss it better?”

What’s left behind is a humming interest that you can feel in your bones as he steadies himself, taking a half-step into your space. 

Warmth pools low in your belly when you finally process what he’s suggesting.

He touches his fingertips to your elbows as if asking permission, and it’s such a Feral thing to do as you’re standing there contemplating everything that’s led you to this point — your friendship, your flirting, your respecting each other’s boundaries — that you warm a little yourself.

Soft, sweet Feral is asking you in no uncertain terms if you’d let him… what?

“I’d like your consent,” he says, all earnestness. No preamble. He’d asked Maul for the invite, but the rest is all up to you. It occurs to you that it’s just how Feral does things. With care. With consideration. You warm a little more under his stare, feeling less the fucktoy and more like the person with feelings. 

Maybe you’re sobering up. 

Maybe he’s just the kind of guy who’s destined to give you butterflies when he looks at you like that, and maybe that’s okay. 

His gaze drops to your mouth, the warmth radiating from him prickling your skin, the moment charged with a number of unsaid, unrecognized things that neither of you have addressed — but just because you don’t acknowledge it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

“My consent for what,” you breathe, because as sure as the air between you two turns electric, the hammering against the door intensifies. 

Feral searches your features, his fingertips sliding up your arms, raising goosebumps. He soothes your flesh with the warmth of his palms. His long, lithe fingers. Thumbs smoothing your skin.

“Would you like an itemized list?” he asks in an undertone. So help you, but that question is weighted in a combination of amusement and… darker things. A twinkle in the velvet black of secrecy — it shines in his eyes.

Kriff and kark it.

He has definitely thought about what he’d do to you if he could.

You swallow your nerves, the flutter in your stomach waking an interest that’s always been there but you’ve denied. 

With the boys — with Savage and Maul, especially — the “good girl” thing was an act. A play. A bit of fun to quell your submissive side. Sure, it gets you hot, but that was always play, right? 

With Feral…

With Feral you actually have been the… you know. 

You nod, and you can feel your face heat. When he cups your cheek there’s a warmth to his touch. 

You’re looking at the tug of a smile at the corner of his lips as he leans in, and whispers into your ear, “Say it,” so gently that your knees nearly buckle.

Sweet, soft, kind Feral.

“Yes,” you breathe, and while you know he will take care of you, you’re not so sure just how sweet, soft, and kind he’s going to be to your body. Not with that look in his eye as he flips on the fresher, pulling you into the spray.

Still half-dressed, he’s unbothered when the door behind you dents, buckles, collapses, and is ripped from its hinges. Durasteel under Maul’s Force abilities is like a crumpled up bit of flimsy, and he tosses the whole thing across the room with a flick of his wrist like it’s nothing but a nuisance in the way of getting to you.

Feral smiles at you, the tips of your fingers cradled in the palm of his hand as he pulls you closer under the water, guiding you to where he wants you. 

You can’t help but look over your shoulder as Maul interrupts, rapping on the transparasteel door that’s beginning to steam over. 

“What did I say,” he starts. Savage, behind him, wears a look of begrudging amusement as Feral lifts a shoulder, indolent, and collects a pat of soap and wash cloth. 

He waves him off. 

“Your pussy. Yes brother, I heard.”

You raise an eyebrow, but Feral draws you into him with a little smile. 

He guides you with that featherlight touch of his to turning, easing you against his chest so that the mess covering your front can be rinsed by the spray. Barely touching you, he ducks his head to murmur just to you as he soaks the cloth and lathers it against his palms, “But he didn’t say anything about your ass.”

To that ends, the brush of his soaked trousers press into your backside — just a hint of heat and hardness, barely concealed by the wet fabric. 

You suck in a little breath in surprise, the slicked ease of his fingertips crossing your tummy, rubbing gently, sliding upwards through the soap to the valley between your breasts as if asking permission, knowing already that whatever he wants is already his.

You forget to breathe.

You forget that Maul and Savage, watching from the other side of the door, are getting a show. 

You forget, that despite that boyish, earnest attentiveness, Feral grew into a man with a very particular sort of persuasiveness. 

The washcloth grazes your thigh, and he palms you through the soap and the wet, each movement slow and careful. It rolls you back into his lap, and it’s his smile that lights you up this time.

“Feral,” you say, but it comes out hoarse and you have to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

His sigh echoes in the small space, content. “My name on your lips…”

He adds in an undertone, just for you, “I look forward to hearing you scream it next time.”

Your heart skips and chugs.

Oh.

He scoops a breast into the washcloth, easing over your skin and across your chest. 

Your eyes flutter shut. 

“Tell me something,” he says into your ear, and his voice carries the barest rumble of mischief in it. “Would you like that?” he asks you quietly. “If I —“ he takes a breath, fingers descending below your belly button, dancing across your hips, tracing the curve of your rump with the backs of his knuckles. 

His breath flutters the hair at your temple. Tracing the pads of his fingers through the soap, each touch leaves you wanting more. 

You lean into him, your heart in your throat.

“If I took it slow,” he says. “If I eased you into it a little bit at a time.”

The sound of the fresher is a roar in your ears. All you can feel is the heat of the water and the solid wall of his body behind yours, tuning into his notches and dips as he lathers your skin — washing away the marks left by his brothers.

Oh, you think — oh, Feral is good.

“I would start by kissing you,” he said. “Here.”

And you bow under the feeling of his hand notching into the v of your legs, your knees giving way a moment before he rests your weight against him. The brush of his fingers soaping you through is slick and easy, and he’s smiling as you react to the practicality of being cleaned by him. 

You sigh into his throat, your hands tracing his forearms and up his shoulders. 

When he rinses away the soap, cupping handfuls of water against your flesh, you’re almost disappointed.

“I’d love to make you beg for it,” he admits, looking down your body with a wistfulness. “I’d love to taste you. I’d love to eat you so long and so hard that the only thing on your mind isn’t if I will fuck you like that, but when.” 

He presses a tiny, chaste kiss to your temple when you whimper.

“And when you beg me to,” he says. “Maybe I’ll slip a finger inside. Just so I can watch your cunt clench when you come.”

You shudder, because that calm, level tone he’s using is leaving you puddling for him. Too much more of this, and you’ll be on your knees on the fresher floor. 

He promises in a hush, “I won’t even need to touch your pussy.”

The heat of his breath in your ear lights up your entire right side, leaving you pebbling and messy, your arms around his neck, just trying to hold on. He rolls his hips against you, and you suck in a breath.

“Promise?” you croak.

You need his hands on your body — soap slicked and sliding against him, that strong, sure grip familiarizing himself from the tops of your thighs to the sensitive spaces beneath your ears.

“You’re going to fucking love it.”

“Feral,” you rasp. “Touch me, Feral.”

“On one condition,” he purrs, turning you to face him. He cups your face, your body humming. “Spread your legs for me, love. I want you to show them what’s mine tonight.”

Gaze travelling over your shoulder, you peek to find Maul and Savage right up against the glass — seeing you trembling for their baby brother. 

“Feral.” You swallow. 

“Don’t worry.” He lids his eyes, smiling a little. “I’ll share.”

Oh stars, you think.

Feral’s thumb catches your lip, his hands sinking into your hair to tip your face up to him.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says against your lips, and you don’t sigh so much as you pant a little hiccup of your excitement into it as he licks your mouth open. Gentle. Easy. But in no uncertain terms, this man is going to fuck you into oblivion if that’s how he handles your tongue against his.

You spread your legs, easing backwards as he leans you into a little arch that puts you on display for the boys at the back. 

“Wider,” Feral murmurs, making certain that you obey. 

His exhale arrives on a shudder, his hand petting down the curve of your spine in one long caress. A squeeze, and he cups your ass with a little noise of appreciation. Pressed into Feral’s chest, breathing hard, you’re putty to him — easily posed. Easier directed. 

He pulls you apart, thumbs spreading your delicate, tenderized folds. Holding you there. 

You hear Maul make a noise of appreciation. Savage’s grunt of agreement. 

Maybe your body isn’t in as bad shape as you thought they left it — 

“Look at them, love,” says Feral, licking his lips. “They want you just as bad as I do.”

The brush of his fingers slick you from your battered pussy, carding lightly through the crease of your flesh that when he brushes across the very thing he’s been waxing about, you jerk at the flood of sensation.

Heat spills though you, but he doesn’t give you any more than the lightest circle — a kiss of his fingers, gently rubbing your juices over your ass.

Feral turns those beautiful eyes back to yours. You can feel Maul and Savage appreciating your body, it’s cadence, your pliancy, your softness to their hard — 

You peek over your shoulder because Feral asked so nicely, and the expression of their faces leaves little to the imagination: it’s a hunger the likes of which you’ve only imagined, twisted in sweaty bedclothes, half-asleep and touching yourself at the thought of what giving yourself to them might be like:

Three brothers. All a little different in temperament and design. All yours.

And just like that, you’re wet again.

Karking soaking.

“You’re trembling,” Feral tells you, withdrawing. Water sluices down your legs, your skin damp, dribbling off your lip. Carding his fingers through your hair, Feral obliges you — stroking you into obedience in long, sure sweeps. His fingers trail along the cleft of your ass, and everything seizes inside you at the invitation in that glancing touch. 

You’re just about ready to crawl up his body, the sureness of his grip on your waist leaving you tremulous and quivering. Making a plaintive noise, you can feel Maul’s attention slipping around you — the waiting dark of his presence a patience that soothes. 

A glance back reveals his hungry attention hasn’t left your body. It’s a look that speaks of unfinished business — assurances of what’s to come. Maul tips his chin up, his gaze sliding down your limbs, and you shiver despite the heat of the fresher and Feral’s embrace.

Maul likes that you haven’t forgotten him. 

Good girl, that look says, and relief melts through you. 

Maul nods, and your hands become fists as the tension renews itself, your body a conduit for those sordid things that make you want to abandon yourself. It hums, crackling beneath your skin, the invitation to surrender to every fantasy. Every whim. Every depraved indulgence you’ve denied yourself.

Here is it — 

Yours for the taking.

You worry your lip, struggling a moment with the words, the cataclysm of everything you need knotting together in the sort of desperation that defies speech. Savage watches what you’ll do. Feral seems to understand the struggle. And Maul —

Maul will give you everything you ever dreamed of.

You steal a breath.

A nod.

Smiles threaten. 

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” Feral whispers, and he scoops you up, hitching your legs around his waist with a grin as he carries you out of the fresher.

“No towel,” he tells Savage, content to take over now that you’re only communicating in whimpers. Feral flashes teeth. “I think we ought to keep her wet.”

–

Did you think they were taking turns?

If the prospect of an Opress brothers sandwich isn’t daunting, try three of them at the same time. That’s a confusion of limbs and mouths and teeth and heat. It’s sweat and muscle and hands and heartbeats. With four people in one bed, there should be a few logistics to consider, but honestly, you’re not considering anything beyond the immediate tangle of limbs, the press of one cock at your hip and the other against your thigh, and hands and fingertips and lips and tongues. 

It’s a little like one of those youngling’s stories — choose your own adventure? Except you’re never quite sure of the path because no matter what you do, you’re at the epicentre of a sensorial overload.

So take a breath. This is going to be a lot.

Ready?

(Good girl.)

–

You give up while you’re ahead — before your back hits the mattress because Feral’s tossed you with the intention of chasing after you at a crawl. 

It happens fast and though the impact is shuddering, it’s nothing compared to the damp brush of his thighs against yours as he descends to pin you down. You register the weight of his cock against your leg and how smooth it is against your skin, those ridges tickling even as he crushes himself to you, tipping your head back, his hands in your hair as the onslaught begins.

Feral claims your mouth, but you can feel the depression of the bed on either side of you as the others join in. Through slitted eyes, you find Savage smiling down from where he’s perched on the edge of the mattress, cock in hand, leaning across. 

“Don’t be greedy, little brother,” he murmurs, flicking his gaze beyond Feral to the headboard.

Maul is up there somewhere, his tension an impermeable wall. 

He doesn’t touch you, but the urgency of his interest descends in a flood — pouring through your body with a touch of influence, leaving you arching against those invisible hands. 

Feral tears away from your mouth and the loss of connection leaves you gasping, slackened as his lips clamp onto your neck, worrying at the flesh with his tongue as Savage gets comfortable at your side. His fingers trace electric patterns down your ribs, lifting you at the hip as Feral’s path lands him around your breasts. When he takes one in his mouth, you gasp open to the sensation of Savage’s hand slipping into the space created by Feral’s movements, easing through the slick heat of you.

Savage murmurs into your ear, “I think our little one likes the extra attention.”

You spread your legs further because you want the finger that’s circling your clit to ease inside you, and chuckling, Savage obliges in the same beat that his tongue smothers your moan.

Whoever’s holding down your wrists has the hardest job, you think: that person doesn’t get to play with you yet. Thing is — you’d know the brush of those hands across your skin anywhere.

“Maul,” you gasp when Savage withdraws, and Feral, lapping at your belly button, pauses long enough to kiss at the juncture where your thigh meets your pussy. 

“Flip her,” he says, and that’s all the direction needed apparently. 

You gasp at the loss of contact, your juices smearing your hip as Savage maneuvers you to your knees. 

That’s when you find him at last: patient and not expectant at all, eyes-half lidded, enjoying the show. Still waiting his turn.

The sound you make at the look Maul fixes you with is so desperate you’re almost embarrassed by it, but no one needs to encourage you as you crawl over his crossed legs, clasping him around the neck as you straddle his lap to the appreciative sounds of his brothers.

Maul hmms his satisfaction, those strong fingers of his snaking around your waist as you fumble for the fastenings of his trousers. 

Savage takes one of your wrists despite your cry of protest, and kissing your palm, your fingers, he shakes his head.

“What makes you think you’ve earned my cock?” asks Maul. He touches your face with such tenderness that you nearly crumple at being denied. 

Another set of hands slip around your front, cupping your breasts. The bed shifts again as Feral eases behind you, and into your ear he purrs so sweetly, “I promised you I was going to eat your ass, love.”

Maul’s hands smooth down your sides to lift your hips a mere few inches into the air, but it’s Feral who tugs you back a few inches, and Feral who bows your back as if to present your cunt to the room.

Your muscles tremble at being stretched — held inches above Maul’s lap. 

Feral kisses your hip. His fingers slip between your folds from behind, threading your juices back to his mouth. He hums at the taste. 

Savage’s fingers find your thigh, squeezing the meatiest part. You don’t even glance at him, but as he angles those thick fingers against your clit, he’ll have a hand in your undoing too. 

“You want to please us, don’t you?” he asks.

Maul nods in onward, as if it was his permission to grant what they do to you now.

You do, though. You really, really do.

“Yes,” you say in a small voice.

The hesitation takes long enough that Savage eases a digit into you once more, and you’re already contacting on him. Your answer is a sigh and a flutter of your lashes, a wet spot on Maul’s trousers, and the fists you make against his shoulders. 

“Yes,” you manage, trying not to writhe — but this isn’t permission. This is encouragement. This is you trying not to beg.

You can feel Feral smile into the small of your back, his breath against your skin is a promise and a threat. He kisses the swell of your flesh. Bites it gently. 

Savage curls his finger inside you, and you buck against it. 

Hands. Feral’s hands. Savage’s hands. 

Before you, Maul flashes teeth. He takes you by the jaw, drawing you close enough to kiss. Close enough that the strain of holding yourself over him would hurt were it not for the fact that Savage has no qualms about lifting you up by the pussy.

“You’re going to stay right where you are, my dear. And I’m going to enjoy watching you beg for it while my brothers bring you right to the very edge of abandon.” He takes a breath, stroking his fingers up your sides. Tweaking a nipple so that you hiss. “And if you’re very good, I’ll let you ride this cock while Feral fucks that tight little ass of yours, and Savage feeds you his.”

Your breathing hitches. 

Someone catches your clit, rubbing in sharp little circles.

“She likes that,” Savage rumbles. 

“Don’t you dare make her come yet,” Feral warns.

Plaintive, desperate for more, you search Maul’s face, wanting to taste him.

“Daddy, please —“ you whimper.

Feral groans, pushing you forward into Maul to spread you for him. 

“Tell him what you want love,” he mutters, stroking between your legs, bumping into Savage’s fingers. He clasps you breast with your other hand, and when he squeezes, it’s the best torture.

“I need you to —“

Savage slips a second finger inside you, and your head rolls back on your shoulders. 

“Pretend my hand is that cock you want.”

Ah fuck, you think, grinding into it.

“I need you to fuck me,” you say, but who it’s directed to is anyone’s guess.

Feral thumbs the pucker of your flesh, adding just a hint of pressure as he begins to stroke your juices up. 

Maul, eyes slitted, doesn’t seem at all convinced.

“Well I definitely don’t believe you.”

Feral’s breath blooms hot against your backside.

“We all need something,” Savage says. 

“I think I need you to sit on my face,” Feral adds, the sweep of his tongue leaving wet, hot line that leaves you wrapped tight around Savage’s hand, jerking roughly.

Maul’s chuckle is all predatory interest. 

“Feral,” you gasp. 

Too late. A glance behind you shows only his bottom half as he spreads you wide, burying his face into your skin. Savage withdraws, and in the void left behind, Feral’s tongue darts out to catch your arousal. You freeze, shaken by the sudden softness and heat of his mouth, your body rigid with surprise. 

He laps at your clit, and the shock of it drops hard and fast from your head to your cunt and you just know you’re done for.

“Fuck?” you manage. 

And it absolutely sounds like a question, half-trapped in the surprise of how exquisite Feral’s mouth is.

But Maul licks at your chin, and with the temptation right there you give in to it, to hell with the consequences — 

And you’re kissing him. Finally.

Maul, hot and hard and devouring, opens to lick up into your mouth. Your groan rumbles through you, the overload a momentary fizzle through your senses.

“So karking wet,” Feral mumbles, coming up for air. “Ease up, love.” He pats your ass.

“Relax into it,” Savage tells you. “You’re doing wonderfully.”

Feral spreads you wet and wanting, his tongue laving at your juices, dragging them up your cleft. The momentary pressure against your ass eases as he lubes you up with your own arousal eases as he retracts, wetting you further. 

When he spits, the splat of wetness that on your ass barely registers as he rubs it in like it was lube. Testing your resistance. 

And you whimper into Maul’s mouth. His hand grips you, holding you there as he tongues you back, swallowing the sounds you want to make. Grips your hair to better control your kiss. 

“Fuck. Delicious,” Feral manages. “I could do this all day.”

You buck, your gasp lost, because Savage is stroking himself while he watches you writhe. 

Maul’s slanted half-smile is your world, even as he lifts you higher. Drags you over him, making Feral follow. Maul kisses the space between your breasts, his hands full of your soft parts, pulling you open for his brother. When Maul sucks a nipple into his mouth, his eyes on yours, the collision of sensations is so overwhelming you cry out. 

Savage’s large hand finds your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, but you gasp at his closeness — his cock brushing your side as he strokes himself. Control. This is a control thing. 

Maul’s grip on your ass leaves a smear down his chest as he eases you down.

Feral is ready. You’re ready.

“Take it,” Maul tells you. So you do.

With a sigh, and a little moan of surprise as Feral’s finger breaches that little swell of muscle.

It burns a little, and you whimper, freezing at the feeling.

“Shh shh,” says Feral. “Tight little thing.”

His caress soothes, waiting for you to adjust.

“Not going to hurt you,” he promises. “Just want you to feel good.”

Maul’s regard doesn’t change — that same concern he met you with when Savage was filling you up earlier is there, but you know that if it was at all bad, he’d call it off in a heartbeat.

“Good?” he asks you, watchful.

You draw in a huge breath, and pushing it out, you relax.

Feral kisses your shoulder.

“Good,” you agree. 

Feral’s fingers graze your folds, and you whimper. He’s using his thumb to open you up for him, and the thought sparks that he could easily fill you up with his fingers if you just gave in to it.

“Tell him what you want,” Maul instructs.

You hesitate because you’re dripping, your breathing ragged in your own ears, and everything throbs to life. 

In a high, tinny voice, you manage, “I want you to fuck me. Please.”

Someone groans, and everyone pulls together a little more closely — 

“That’s it, love.”

“So lovely. So sweet —“

“Yes, like that,” someone purrs.

“We’ll take care of you.”

“That’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Your sigh becomes a moan as you fall into it at last — 

And then it gets better as Maul helps to sink a little lower onto Feral’s hand. Your pussy throbs. Gentle fingers brush through the wet. Smear a nipple. Suckling it. A mouth finds yours and you. Just. Puddle into the heat of it all — moving with that gentle rocking of bodies drawing more closely together.

Savage kisses your shoulder, your neck. He directs your mouth to his as he feeds you his tongue to your sigh. A bottle is passed to Feral. 

Warmth and wetness, and Feral eases that finger to the knuckle.

“Kark,” Savage mutters.

And you slit your eyes open to find a drop of pre-come on Savage’s cock, taunting you, balanced precariously at the tip. The thought crosses your mind that you’d like to lick it off, but being otherwise occupied, it’s Savage that obliges you. With a swipe, he offers the droplet to you on the tip of his finger. 

Breathing hard, you lick the digit into your mouth. Watching him, watching you suck it down.

You’re breathing a little more shallowly when Savage’s gaze darkens.

Your mouth makes a satisfying pop! when you release him.

A squeeze at your hip, but it’s a little stammer of attention. Good to know you can still get everyone’s attention.

“Good?” Feral croaks.

You swallow, adjusting to the sensation. Shake your head. Your cunt is empty. Your mouth is empty. They promised you — 

“More.” 

So Feral obliges, withdrawing a little to stroke and suckle at you as one finger becomes two, the process slower than the first time as he works towards that first uncomfortable hurdle. He kisses your neck, licking at your earlobe so that you’re laughing when he finally presses both digits into you.

Stretching you into supplication.

It hurts, but only at first as your body adjusts.

Maul and Savage watch as you go boneless. Your breathing thinned. Eyes half-shut in the unexpected pleasure of being claimed like this. And Feral, gently, begins to finger you.

It’s a different type of indulgence. Aroused by the taboo of it, you lean into his touch, propped up against Maul’s chest as everything draws together, tightening, heated to burning.

Moisture slicks your thighs, your body moving with his as he grins into your throat.

“Do you like that?” Feral asks you on a breath.

Beneath you, it’s Maul who sees the contraction of your muscles as you clench. And Maul who thumbs your over sensitized bud, watching your face as Feral slowly undoes your last inhibitions. 

It’s good.

It’s so good.

“Feral,” you whisper, almost whining. “You said you’d make me come.” 

All three boys laugh at that, but it’s Maul who draws you into his embrace, pushing back your hair from your face and kissing your cheeks.

“Please don’t stop,” you whimper, because Feral’s established rhythm is the only thing keeping you tethered.

If there’s a quiet exchange that happens, you miss it as the bed shifts and Maul gathers you to him. Feral’s hands fall from your body. Bereft, you cry out at the loss of contact, but Maul strokes your back and your shoulders, kissing away the loss as you warm to him. Everything throbs and burns, and you, empty and needy, try not to fall apart as your lovers help you sit upright.

Stars, but it feels nice to press into Maul’s body — your tits up to his throat and your arms around those broad shoulders as the hands at your back soothe and stroke, kisses peppering your shoulders. In murmurs, they surround you with the heat of their bodies and the comfort of their scents. You can turn your head this way and that, receiving a kiss from one or the next, the other leaving their affection on your skin. Wherever they can reach.

You body hums with it.

Your mouth is Maul’s, though, and his kisses are the most leisurely. He takes his time with you, proud of your performance, apparently — and interested that you’re still eager to please him with the way you roll your hips against his lap. The hard anticipation pressing into your core is encouraging, and with those baser instincts just at the threshold, it’s all you can do not to fuck him through his trousers.

“Maul,” Savage warns.

There are hands on you but who belong to which male — in your hair, at your throat, on your calf — who cares. 

You’re rubbing yourself into the hard length of Maul’s cock, the ridges just barely grazing the point of friction you need to get off, when someone lifts you off of him. 

Finally, taking pity on you, Maul pushes down his waistband just enough for you to ease down onto his cock with a whimper. His answering grunt of pleasure is an exercise in self-control, but that point’s lost on the fact that you’ve been pressed between his body and Feral’s.

The brush of Feral’s length against your backside leaves you clenching, but Maul swallows the sound, pulling back your hair from the nape of your neck to turn into a handhold that leaves you gasping. 

“Easy,” Feral says, pulling you back from your hips. 

He thumbs you open — and less intrusive this time, you gasp, wrenching upward to find Savage has taken up a position beside the bed. He strokes himself, the length and girth of him no less intimidating now that it was earlier. 

Thumbing your lower lip, he slides his thumb into your mouth before you can make a sound.

“Suck,” he says, and this time, Maul answers for you:

With an expletive and his tightening grip on your ass.

“Hold her like that,” says Feral, and the press of his cock sits hot against the last bastion of whatever innocence you thought you had left. 

“Ah,” he says, and the strain of it is impossible — 

You freeze, because there’s an ounce of pressure that is more than just a little.

Savage moves his thumb against your tongue, distracting you. Just a little pump to bring your attention back to him.

“Swallow,” he tells you gently, so you do, and he flashes a lopsided smile, easing deeper into your mouth. “Good.”

Feral presses forward, and you moan around that digit as that ring of muscle holding back his cock gives just enough. You feel the first inch stretching flesh slicked with your own fluids and Feral’s spit, lube, and stars knows what else. His cock pulses, and you register that it’s warmer than you expected — that the discomfort passes easier with Maul’s hands on you; with Savage murmuring encouragements. 

Feral’s hands cup your stomach, your breasts. He breathes hard into your shoulder, shuddering out, “I’m inside you.”

And it’s sort of sweet. Intimate, definitely. You feel —

Everything. 

Every silky inch of him as he withdraws a little, and presses forward a little more. Repeating until the weight of him, warm and solid at your back, sits comfortable against you and your ass is in his lap. 

Savage withdraws his fingers, letting you breathe through being so full.

Connected as you are, you think you can feel his heartbeat through the point where you’re joined.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Feral manages, laughing and breathy.

A beat, and Maul mutters into your throat, “You’re both so karking heavy.”

Someone laughs. And then you start laughing, but the vibration rolls through you both, rumbling through your body and the males inside you, and the feeling is —

Not what you expected.

It’s… comfortable in its overwhelm, but it’s a thready thing that teeters on the edge of oblivion. Overstimulated, over-sensitized, stretched to capacity and breathing hard — and you know there’s one thing missing: It’s almost complete. 

Maul touches your face, bringing your attention back to him. Wide-eyed, you’re slipping in and out of the moment, trying to take it all in.

That gold gaze holds yours, tenderness lingering despite the gravitational shift you’re experiencing. 

“You’re trembling,” he says.

You nod, your body responding for you since all you can really manage is a breathy whimper.

Maul pulls you closer, careful. Watchful.

In the tiniest voice, you manage, your body thrumming and world on the brink of collapse, “I’m going to come.”

A flash of relief, and Maul’s expression hardens. The way he looks at you changes, and you might as well be gushing on him, everything in you straining not to fall apart. “Not until I say so.”

Oh, ffff —

Your cunt gives a hapless throb, your threshold dropping to a point where you’re grazing the bloom of relief. If anyone moves, you just might give into the need for release —

Maul raises his eyebrows, his fingers digging into your chin and cheek. “No.” And the command is laced with the sort of influence that pebbles your nipples and leaves you squeezing so hard that even Feral grunts from it.

“Look at me,” Maul commands.

Oh, you are so done for —

“Not,” he says, “Until. I. Say. So.”

You steal a breath that shivers through you, tremulous and fragile as anything as your cunt clamps down. Feral’s fingers dig into your hips. The pain is nice — it clarifies.

“Say it,” says Maul.

You open your mouth and you’re so close to being lost that it’s a miracle you even puff, “Yes, daddy. I won’t, daddy,” that he doesn’t seem convinced, but he does seem satisfied, and that’s so much better than your imminent cataclysm that your muscles relax just enough that Feral heaves a sigh of relief.

“Stars, you’re both going to kill me back here,” he squeaks.

But it’s Savage’s chuckle that brings you around — he’s been watching the whole time, stroking himself, and that… that’s almost too much.

Your karking mouth waters at the sight.

“Go on,” says Maul, encouraging.

You’re so karking thirsty it’s almost funny. But to say that Maul doesn’t like the look of you with a cock in your mouth and stuffed from both ends — well. You’re all in the same depraved boat now, aren’t you?

Feral shifts, giving you a squeeze, still seated in your ass to the hilt, and the movement brings you to your side, breathing hard as finally, Maul shifts his hips into yours: an invitation to thrust, perhaps, but what it does is trigger a flutter of feeling that leaves your eyes falling shut.

“Don’t move.” The warning trembles through your skin, and carefully, you drape a leg over his hip. “We’ll take care of you.”

The heat and hardness of Maul’s chest beneath your hands leaves you melty and easy in his arms, and sinking into that promise, you let them get comfortable, making little adjustments that slide and slip your bodies into place.

Pressed together, suspended between them, you groan into the feeling of being embraced from either side, breaths mingling, your body quivering and at the ready.

“Nnn fuck,” you manage. 

Feral’s leg notches between yours, a hand slipping up to your breast. He kisses your temple. Maul’s lips brush your mouth, and you sigh.

He angles his hips again, and Feral takes the cue to withdraw a little. 

“Can I play with you like this?” he asks.

You very nearly sob at the prospect. 

Feral eases back into you when Maul withdraws, and you groan at the sensation.

“You’re a dirty boy, Feral,” you breathe, and he takes it upon himself to slap your clit.

When you jerk in surprise, the sudden movement lurches you into his lap, squirming on his cock as he thrusts to meet you. 

Gasping, you writhe at the sensation of being overly full, hyper-sensitized. Your nails dig into Maul’s chest, holding on for dear life.

Your body is pounding, demanding whatever cadence they decided to set between themselves. You’re a bridge between brothers at this point — a plaything meant to be used.

Wanton. Filthy. The Opress brothers’ little whore.

Feral swirls two fingers against your clit, and your head rolls back to his shoulder, your back arching, everything drawing together as your mouth falls open.

“Oh, fuck —“

It’s felt good before with Maul. With Savage, too — but it’s never, ever felt like this.

The thought leaves you gasping as Maul smiles against your mouth; the intricacies of your intimacy such that he can probably read the thought on your face. 

“Dirty? You’re the one with my cock in your ass,” Feral informs you.

Laughter. Whose — who cares. You smile at it, eyes slitted and breathing hard.

Those two fingers at your centre wind you tighter, bringing you closer to that edge where it becomes harder to speak. 

“I’m just kidding,” Feral whispers, and the heat of his mouth leaves you shivering. “You’re wonderful, love. Look at this lovely little pussy — this tight little ass. Stars, you feel good.”

He kisses the back of your neck, moving in opposition to Maul, who’s long, sure thrusts slip deep and familiar into you — the ridges of his prosthetics rippling through you, the added friction merciless. 

“She likes it,” Savage informs Feral, his gaze lidded. Maul nips at your lip, hips rolling a little faster, encouraging.

You breathe, hitching, “Yes.”

Maul’s grunt of appreciation is offset by the shallow graze of his thrusts, working to that exact angle to drive you over the edge — or close to it. 

“Not so sure about that,” he murmurs to Savage, catching your lower lip between his teeth. He growls and releases you. “She’s awfully chatty for someone who’s allegedly enjoying themselves.”

You whimper. You know where this is going — 

Have you been moaning this whole time?

You clamp your teeth together. Too late. 

Savage leans down, his elbows on the bed.

“Might I be of assistance?” he offers.

Feral cards his fingers into your hair right at the scalp — sweet, soft Feral — and pulls your head back, tipping your chin up.

“Open your mouth, love,” he murmurs, the surety of his thrusts in cadence with Maul’s, and you, full to bursting, wonder why you four have never done this before.

Pre-come leaks from the tip of Savage’s cock as he rises. It’s so heavy that even full erect it droops a little.

“Just the tip, little one,” he tells you, kneeling on either side of your head. You can smell the musk of him mingled with your own arousal dried on his thighs.

You clench. You can’t help it. A low moan rising from your diaphragm as you think, Please, yes. Everything booms within you — your breath catching on the inhale as Savage eases himself to your lips and Maul murmurs his appreciation as that one drop falls to your tongue.

Oh, stars —

“I’m gonna c—“ Your voice is snuffled to a moan as Savage’s cock hits your tongue, and slides deeper into your mouth, stretching your lips. 

A whimper, the taste of yourself on the thickest part of that cock like a lingering perfume. 

Someone groans, and you swallow because you’re a —

“Good girl,” Maul says, pumping harder. 

Feral bows into your back, the rhythm catching him too as the three of you move together. 

Savage grunts his praise, tell you to, “Use your tongue,” and you very nearly gag as he eases back to your throat.

So full.

So perfect.

Your sigh flutters. Your eyes roll back —

And Savage fucks your mouth gently, easily, delicately so you don’t choke but kark it, you’re clawing into his leg anyway. You grip the base of his cock, giving it a good squeeze and Savage’s answering grunt is pure karking pleasure knowing that you could do that to him — to all of them.

Hands on your thighs. Teeth on your shoulder. The briefest pinch of pain. Your cunt seizing on every wonderful, delicious stroke that lights that feeling of completion inside you and the silence that precedes the cataclysm fuzzes your ears, whites out your sight, and launches you out of the tethers of your own flesh for just one moment, and —

It roars back in as you howl your release between the three of them. 

It doesn’t end. 

Stuffed to bursting, it takes moments before your orgasm crests. Another half minute before you unfurl enough to allow the feeling to ebb out, but by that point you’re on the verge of blacking out. 

Savage pulls from your mouth, but you hold on for dear life. He bucks into your hand, pumping into your fist with a snarl.

Gasping a breath, you’re still coherent when the wave of pleasure catches Feral, dragging him after you as he bursts and shudders, striking home with a surprised, “Ah!” that dissolves into a relieved rasp of your name.

Savage goes next — most of it splattering your chin and shoulder as he jerks free, but you catch some of it before he can stumble away. You can taste it on your lips as you pant at the loss of him. He hits the floor with a shudder, the look of surprise he wears leaving you blooming into the aftershocks. Everything roils with the collision of sensations, everything happening too fast —

You lick at the mess, wiping it from your chin to your mouth, flashing a brief, smouldering smile at him as you wipe your face and suck it off your fingers.

“Fuck,” Feral exclaims. 

Savage can only rasp his agreement, crawling back to the point of collision where he licks into your mouth. 

Everything seizes up inside you again. Someone’s hand is on your breast, rolling your nipple.

Oh stars, you barely have time to think — 

Still jerking with the force of Maul’s thrusts, your world narrows, drawn back to your lover as he grips your chin, forcing you to focus on him as his hips slam roughly into yours. 

Feral eases from you. Savage withdraws. The ownership of these final moments are clear. 

Maul rolls with you, pushing your legs apart with his knees, hitching into you to the hilt. Pressed into the mattress beneath him, your breathing shorts and starts, the weight of him anchoring. Solid. Familiar. 

His arms bracket your head, leaving you to the heat and hardness of his planes — smaller under him, submitting to his rough care. He smells like sweat and space dust and that faint hint of Dathomiri wine he prefers — traces of your arousal like a mark against his skin. You were his first. You are his last — to the end of everything; to whatever limits the Force permits and the blackness beyond.

Your legs wrap his waist, the coldness of his metal thighs biting into your skin a comfort: you know you can warm him. Gold eyes turned molten. A fire in them that heats you from your core. 

Stars, you love his arms — all that corded muscle. Rough hands. Thick fingers. Holding your face in place for the devouring that’s happening. He claims your mouth — all teeth and tongue — swallowing your breath. He fills you with the taste of him so that the last thing you remember between the rake of his ridges against your sensitive flesh and the broad press of his chest against yours is the absolute certainty that he will not relent. 

Maul hitches you up by the hip, racking himself into that spot that strikes through you, unyielding with demand. Over and over again until spots threaten behind your eyes. You’ve lost your breath, everything seizing on the prospect of one last ascent. Together.

“Now,” he growls. “You come for me.”

Times like these, you think you understand that connection he always talks about — the perfect certainty of all things aligning in concert: the light, the dark, unbridled power, and the spark in all that darkness that kindles destiny. 

“Daddy,” you breathe.

He bares his teeth in a triumphant smile, crushing his mouth to yours. 

And everything —

Everything shatters.

–

Somewhere in the afterglow, Feral snuffles in his sleep. His face is smushed into your side, a leg tangled around one of yours. You roll your head into Maul’s throat, propped up against his chest as the others sleep. No need for a sheet when you’ve got bodies that run hot. 

Savage snores to Maul’s left. 

Your body hums with a particular sort of stillness that you’ve never felt in your life: a sated, perfect completion that leaves you floating and detached from it all. Miles away, Maul’s fingers brush your back. 

You hum your contentment.

He raises an eyebrow. 

“You wore them out,” he tells you in an undertone.

Everything aches, but it’s a sated soreness — nothing a hot bath and the warm knead of strong fingers can’t fix. Maybe a little bacta and a couple of kisses here and there on the spots where someone used their teeth.

“Someone bit me,” you inform him.

He frowns down at the drape of your body across his, considering. 

“I did.”

Like it wasn’t obvious.

You raise an eyebrow. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks for for the second time that rotation — well. Maybe it’s tomorrow? 

The sun peeking over Dathomir bathes your bodies in a lazy blush, turning Maul’s gaze aflame with a mingling of curiosity and amusement that you find oddly endearing. That star is relentless, but neither of you shutter the viewport: it’s too nice a morning.

A new day. A new world.

You sigh into his touch, lazy fingers trailing your skin, and nuzzle into his chest. When you shut your eyes to the slumbering sounds of his brothers, you hum to him, “Not at all.”

Maul leaves a lingering kiss at your temple, his murmur sinking into your skin as sleep claims you.

“Good girl.”


End file.
